


How I Banged Your Brother

by jdmcool



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-16 19:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4638021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick has a problem that only a former "friend" can help with. Well, "friends", since there are definitely two of them and not one, plus a six fingered alternate he met in a different dimension once. In any case, world saving problem solving from Rick Sanchez and the original Mystery Twins as Rick explains how he banged the twins's brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been awhile since I wrote anything. Might be good. Might be shit. Let's find out together. Rating to go up once we get to the brother banging parts. Also, I work for comments and kudos. So you know, keep that in mind.

Morning pancakes were usually great. A time that the entire family could come together and talk about their plans before inevitably meeting later that night to talk about how their plans went to hell and back. It was a fun time, in the eyes of Morty, but then, most morning didn’t involve Rick’s angry swearing carrying like a bad smell in the wind throughout the house. For the most part, they all did their best to ignore the screams and rather creative word choice, but as they came more frequently, the entire family wound up eying each other--the question of if any of them should make some sort of comment about the swearing hanging heavily between them.

Jerry was the first of them to break following the cry of of ‘metal fucking piece of shit assbrick’. Fork falling hitting his plate in a noisy clatter, he lifted raised his hands in defeat, looking at them all wildly. . “So are we just going to--”

“Ignore it, Jerry,” Beth said before taking another bite of her pancakes, completely unphased by the loud crashing noises that were coming from the garage. “He’s just working.”

“Beth, the kids are at the table,” he pleaded as he gestured at them. “I don’t think that they should be hearing such language.”

Summer let out a scoff, pausing her texting long enough to roll her eyes. “Oh please, dad. I hear worse on a daily basis.”

“Yeah, usually from Rick,” Morty added as he waved around his fork. He frowned when his piece of pancake went flying, chancing a look from where it landed on the floor to his parents to see if he should bother picking it up just yet. The loud shout of ‘fuck’ quickly grabbed his attention from his own dilemma though. “He--he seems like he may be doing ok in there, you know? I mean, could be worse.”

Morty stared at his parents earnestly, rather hoping that they would just agree and let the matter go. Not start some fight about Rick or anything else and just let breakfast be a pleasant meal, but, as if on cue there was a loud breaking sound followed by Rick making his way from the garage clutching a beaker and coughing excessively as a foul odor seemed to follow him from his lab.

Standing upright, Rick let out a groan that ended in a burp before looking at them all mildly out of focus and wavering on his feet a little.“H-hey! Look, I’m-I’m gonna need to go, go away from awh-ile so just, you know, don’t-don’t go in my lab or anything.”

“Is everything alright, Rick?” Morty asked, not even trying to hide the concern in his voice.

“What do you think M-Morty?” Rick snapped back. “I-I just said I have to leave for awhile after spending the last two hours violently swearing about a massive fuck up in the damn universe. D-does that sound like everything--is alright to you?”

“Should I... I mean, do you need me to come with?” Odds were, he was going to go, but asking felt like a necessity.  “Do, do you need some help?”

“I want to come too!” Summer piped up, finally looking from her phone with a strange determination for someone who generally hated almost everything about spending time with her grandpa.

“Hold up,” Rick called out, holding his hands--well, one hand the beaker in his other hand. “I don’t r-remember saying that I was inviting anyone. Besides, this isn’t some space trip. I’m just going to another state.”

“That actually sounds safer than ninety percent of the stuff you usually do like take them to space or keep aliens with space aids in the basement,” Jerry pointed out with his usual look of confusion.

“Does it, Jerry?” Rick asked, slamming his beaker down on the table. Hunched over menacingly, he blinked somewhat unsteadily. “Do you--Do you think I would put their fragile lives in harms way by taking them on trips I didn’t think were safe?”

“Yeah,” came the unanimous reply from everyone.

Rick reared back, eyeing each and everyone of them like they had lost their minds. However, after the whole time freeze situation and the dog trying to take over the world, all the times they had nearly died--not to mention the situation with Mr Poopybutthole--it was hard to say that Rick was safe to have around the house, let alone what went on in space.

So Morty cleared his throat nervously, cutting in before Rick could start up again. “Yeah, I mean, you do it all the time, Rick. And like, when we go into space, we nearly die like all the time.”

“Wrong!“ Rick exclaimed as he rounded on him--turning his attention from Jerry to Morty with a quickness one wouldn’t expect from a man so unsteady on his feet. Pointing his finger at Morty, he glared, “I take you places for simple purposes and then your stupid conscience thing gets in the way and complicates shit, Morty.”

Summer let out a grunt of disgust, already bored with the arguments of who was dangerous and who was more prone to getting the family killed. Lowering her phone, she looked at her grandpa with a bored expression. “So can we go with you or not?”

“Ugh! Fine, Summer, if it will get you both to shut up and let me leave already, then you two brats can come. But I don’t have time for you to pack shit so--”

“Don’t worry, we already have bags,” Morty blurted out as he rose from his seat quickly. Perhaps too quickly given how he nearly stumbled over it.

Rick stood there and watched as both Summer and Morty rushed off to gather their things.

“Ugh. Damn-Damn kids and their fucking planning--” Taking a drink from his beaker once they were out of their room, he nodded toward Beth, burping as he did. “Look, Beth, I may be about a week or so, so, you know, store my mail and if anyone comes looking for me, tell them I’m a different dimension. Unless it’s some massive Ruudons then you tell them I already sent their crystals and shoot them if they try anything funny.”

“Alright, dad,” she agreed, barely looking up from her food to acknowledge him.

“Beth, what--?” A shrill, nearly panicked question that forced her to look up--though Rick continued to watch him with the same interest he gave fish tanks. Jerry wasn’t one to be deterred as he turned a pleading eye to his wife. “Ruudons? Shooting? Are we sure that the kids should be going? That Rick should be going?”

“It’ll be a week without the kids and it’s summer vacation Jerry. They’ll live.” Pausing for a second, she turned toward Rick with a somewhat venomous look in her eye. “They will live, right dad?”

“Y-yeah. Should--Should be fine if they stay out of my way. And if not, I can always jack some other version from a different dimension or something.”

“What?” Jerry questioned, voice raising at least an octave.

While Beth may have been content giving Jerry her usual look of annoyance before turning back to her meal, Rick saw an opportunity to laugh in the other man’s face, which was exactly what he did. A fake sounding laugh forcing itself from his body erratically as he pointed across the table at him.

“It-It’s a joke, Jerry. Jeez. Learn to lighten up. Maybe, maybe unclench once in awhile.”

“Beth I--”

“Ready, Grandpa Rick,” Summer called out as she reentered the room, nudging Morty out of her way as she did.

Lord only knew what the hell was in those backpacks they each wore given how full they looked, but no one questioned. It was just the usual array of reactions that came with their family--their parents forced happy looks and Rick’s constant boredom. However, he's also the first of them to shake himself out of the still moment and start heading back to the garage, chucking the deuce as he went.

“Great. If you need me, call my burner phone. I’m not answering that other one. Fucking R-ruudons.”

Jerry rose from his seat as he called out to stop the way his kids blindly followed their mad scientist grandpa. “Hold on a second! Just where are you taking the kids anyways?”

“That’s actually a good question," Morty said. Fiddling with the strap of his backpack, he looked up at his grandpa, "Where are we going, Rick?”

“We’re going to Oregon, if you must know." Lifting the flask to his mouth again, he finished off whatever liquid was in it with a loud belch and haphazard wipe of his mouth. "There's a problem that requires some assistance from an old friend of mine in Gravity Falls. Given that I'm genius enough to solve literally anything, you should understand how bad and life threatening this is. Now, go put your shit in the ship. Gotta make up time for all this entirely useless and unnecessary conversation.”

Jerry looked at him with even more concern. “Wait, Rick--”

“And away we go!”

With that--and a swing of his arm, Rick staggered off back to the garage with Morty and Summer close on his heels. Sitting at the table, shoulders slumped in defeat, Jerry stared at the direction they went for a long moment--long enough for the small argument over the state of the garage coming from the garage to instill a new level of worry into him. Letting out a low sigh, he turned toward Beth with a look of disbelief.

“So we’re just going to let him take the kids out of state for God only knows how long for something that could mean the end of the world if you alcoholic father and some unknown friend can't fix it?”

“Jerry," Beth sighed. "The kids are out of the house for a week. Just enjoy it.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and the kids arrive in Gravity Falls where things go exactly how Rick planned: poorly to ok, depending on how you look at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed an update in under a week. That that probably won't ever happen again because it nearly killed me. Not enough Kesha in the world to get me through that. Anyways, the story kicks into gear next chapter so enjoy all this filler while I wonder what possessed me to write a multi-chapter fic.

With all the trips the three of them had been on, the trip to Oregon was the most normal, which is why it was the strangest. For the entirety of the driver, Rick kept his eyes on the road and didn’t make much in the way of small talk, other than once to turn up the radio because it was his jam. Summer was busy in the back, occasionally muttering about something her friends sent her or something. No one was paying much attention to each other throughout the ride, especially Morty, who had been cautiously watching the outside world pass them by only to relax when they finally arrived in town.

Looking out the window at all the people in the quiet little town just watching them fly by, it dawned on him that there was nothing weird about the place. It was just some small town in Oregon where Rick was going. When he spotted the lazer tag place, Morty lifted his head to look back at Summer in excitement, but she was still wrapped up in her phone. So instead, he turned his attention to Rick.

“Wow, Rick, this is the first time you’ve ever really taken us somewhere, you know, normal.”

“This isn’t some vacation, Morty,” Rick said, eyes focused on driving as both of his hands rested on the wheel. “I have serious business to take care of in order to keep the entire world for being destroyed. Just to put that into some perspective for you.”

Morty sunk into his seat with that little reminder. “Oh.”

It should’ve been the end of the conversation. Rick was focused on driving for a change while Morty crossed his arms over his stomach and stared blindly at the dashboard of the ship as the weight of the statement settled in his mind, but trust Summer to but in. Lifting her head from his phone for the first time since the trip had begun with a look of confusion and doubt.

“If it’s really that bad then why didn’t you just use your portal thing to get there?”

“That’s, that’s actually a good question,” Morty said, sitting up straight in his seat again. “Why didn’t you just portal there? I mean, you’ve used that portal to get into the president’s private bunker before.”

“Or to get to the kitchen from upstairs,” Summer added pointedly.

Other than the roll of his eyes, Rick completely ignored Summer’s remark. Instead drumming his fingers against the wheel to a beat that existed only in his head, he said, “Because un-unlike the president, I’m pretty sure my friend might, might stab me in my liver if I tried that again.”

The siblings shared an uncomfortable look with each other. With what each of them knew of the man’s intergalactic friends, his on planet friend could be just as bad and neither of them had actually considered that when they decided to go.

But where Summer retreated into the safety of texting her friends and taking the occasional selfie, Morty started to wring his hands nervously as he tried to broach the topic with his grandpa. “Oh man. Rick, is this friend a real friend like Birdperson or is it more like, like that weird alien hit man guy you knew?”

“All my friends are real friends, Morty. You’re the one with the hangs up about how they choose to live their lives,” Rick stated, lifting his hand from the wheel to poke the boy in the chest.

“He was a hit man who enjoyed killing, Rick!”

“Yeah and Birdperson is sleeping with a teenage girl he took from Earth. We all have our issues, Morty.”

Summer paused mid selfie to stare at Rick in disgust. “Oh my God. Tammy is still with him?”

“You-you seriously didn’t wonder where-ere one of your friends went off to for all this time?” Rick asked.

“No. I mean,” she started defensively. Face contorted in confusion as she searched for the right words, she eventually just shrugged. “I kind of figured she just moved or something. Not that she was off banging some alien bird guy.”

“W-way to go, Summer. Remind me to never leave you in charge of watching anyone important.”

“Hey, this isn’t about me. This was about you and your total non-rush to go meet with some potentially evil friend of yours and save the day.”

“Yeah, well, we’re here,” Rick said, parking the ship roughly. “Try, try not to get eaten by anything on the way to the door.”

With that Rick hopped out of the ship and made his way to the door. Summer went back to finishing up some text, but Morty, he just stared at the place. The old letters that read Mystery Shack and the haphazard work that seemed to have been done to take care of some very obvious damages. It looked more like a rundown tourist trap than anywhere Rick had ever actually taken them and that fanned the flames of unease in the boy’s gut.

Turning in his seat to face his sister, he cast a nervous glance to Rick. “Oh man Summer, what if this is another one of his bad friends? What if this ends horribly and we all like, die here?”

“Well then at least we won’t have died trapped at home all summer with mom and dad.”

His brows dropped in annoyance. Opening his mouth to complain about how she only cared about her phone and who her stupid friends were sleeping with or whatever, the sound of Rick’s voice caught both their attention

“Are, are you guys g-getting out or not? Because I’m not coming over to give you the keys to turn on the-the AC.”

Patting Morty on the shoulder, Summer got out of the car and made her way over to their grandpa. Morty gave a cautious look around the wooded area before forcing himself out of the car and over to where Rick was waiting for them with, still looking strangely together given how he usually held himself. An anomaly even in comparison with Rick’s good days.

“I hope this is a normal friend,” he muttered loud enough to be heard.

“L-look, you two just stay close to me. I got this.”

Another unsettled look was shared between Morty and Summer, but Rick didn’t notice. His preoccupation rested in the act of lifting his hand and knocking. Or rather, moving to knock before taking a deep breath. Steady the nerves neither kid was used to seeing their grandpa exhibit. Finally knocking, loudly and in a police like fashion, Rick chuckled to himself.

“OK. So maybe we should’ve stayed home,” Summer whispered as she watched the display.

Morty scoffed. “You think?”

The conversation was put to an abrupt end by the door opening. Even with each teen expecting the worst, neither of them were exactly prepared for the smiling girl in the shooting star sweater that opened the door.

“Hello there! Are you any form of law enforcement and or a government agent such as a tax collector?”

“No.” Rick rolled his eyes as he said, “I’m a scientist. I’m looking for a friend of mine. Stanford Pines?”

“ID, please,” she said in a sing song voice, holding out her hand.

Rick pulled out his wallet and handed over the id to the little girl. Looked back at them as she inspected it. “Hey, ids out.”

Unsure of what to do, Morty and Summer did as they were told and pulled out their own ids and handed them over. The girl took them and looked them over carefully, remarking with a rather thrilled voice, “Sanchez. Now there’s a good name. Not sure you seem like a Morty though.”

“That’s what I told his mom.”

“Hey, I-I like my name. It’s a good name.”

Finished looking them over, the girl handed them back their ids. “I’m Mabel by the way. Really like your flying spaceship out there.”

“Th-thanks. These are my grandkids.”

“Hey,” they both said, Morty awkwardly raising his hand in a weak attempt at a wave while Summer just gave a nod of her head.

Mabel waved back then started off inside the place, gesturing for them all to follow after her. “You have great timing. We were just sitting down to breakfast so everyone is in here.”

Looking around the place, Morty and Summer’s gazes kept falling back on each other as they gestured to the knick knacks around the place. Family photos of Mabel and some other kid who looked like her. Some old guy that was probably Rick’s friend. It was homey. Looking at Rick, who was content to just follow Mabel, they both pursed their lips as they began to worry once again about what they had tagged along for.

“Hey Grunkle Stan, this guy says he’s a friend of yours so I just brought him in here. Bacon, anybody?” Mabel grabbed a plate of bacon from the table and held it out toward them.

“I’ll have some. Eggs too,” Rick said as he took a piece of bacon and began to

The boy at the table looked at them inquisitively, but Stan just stared at Rick in a sort of shock. It was almost as though he was seeing a ghost. And from the self satisfied look on his face, that was just the reaction that Rick was looking for.

“Rick, what the heck are you doing here?” Stan asked, rising from his seat.

“Well I had a small problem that required some assistance.”

“Assistance?” His voice rose an octave as he asked the question. Crossing the room over to Rick, he jabbed the other in the chest roughly with his finger. “I haven’t seen you in nearly a year and you just show up out of the blue asking for help?”

“You know I wouldn’t do something like that without reason,” Rick said, still smiling, albeit in a more pacifying manner as he lifted his hands in surrender.

Whether she was entirely oblivious to the situation and how close Rick looked to getting punched or just trying to prevent that from happening, Mabel forced her way between the two of them and held up the plate of eggs and bacon Rick had asked for.

“Here you go, Mr Sanchez,” she said, emphasizing his last name with a single jazz hand.

“Thanks.” Taking the plate from her, he took a bite--eyes trained on Stan, who still looked ready to do him harm. Dropping his gaze to the plate, he said, “Holy shit that’s great.”

“Hey! Watch the language in front of the kids, why don't you?”

Ignoring Stan’s complaint, Mabel waved off the compliment with a smug little grin. Regardless of what he grunkle said, she wasn’t too bothered by the swear. “Oh it’s nothing. Just eggs with a dash of cumin to make it pop!”

“Grunkle Stan,” the boy at the table said, finally speaking up “How do you know this guy?”

A good question that had everyone looking at the elderly men as they stared each other down. The obvious process of a lie being formed played out with the way Stan’s eyebrows rose expectantly only to be met with the shake of Rick’s head as he continued to shove his mouth full of bacon and eggs.

Finally clearing his throat, Stan looked back at the boy, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah. We uh... he’s a friend from when I was younger. Still doesn’t answer why he’s here though.”

Rick opened his mouth, his initial words cut off by a loud belch. “Well, I’m here because--”

The vending machine opened up at that moment, a man who looked a lot like Stan, if not a bit younger, stepping out from inside of it with a pleased look on his face. “Breakfast smells amazing Mabel and--Rick?!”

“S’up, Fordsie.”

Ford made his way over to Rick only to be stopped by Stan himself, holding each of them at arm’s length.

“Whoa. Hold up. You know him?” Stan asked his twin.

“He’s a guy I met while I was in the portal,” Ford explained, smacking his brother’s hand away. Taking another step or two closer to him, he eyed him uneasily. “What are you doing here?”

“You met him while in the portal?” Stan questioned, his gaze resting very heavily on Rick.

Clearing his throat, Morty nervously raised a hand to get some of the very angry attention off Rick, not that he really knew why he was helping the guy. “He, uh... He needs assistance in some world ending matter he hasn't really explained to us, but I mean, that’s kind of normal for him.”

“Rick, what’s going on?” Ford looked at Morty then at Summer, practically inspecting them. “You’re asking for help and have assistants?”

“Oh! Wow.” Rick smacked himself in the forehead, laughing. “Totally forgot to do this. Everyone, these are my grandkids, Summer and Morty. Summer, Morty, this is Mabel and... some other kid I don’t know.”

“That’s my brother, Dipper,” Mabel chimed in.

Dipper gave an awkward nod as he raised his fork in lieu of waving. “Hey.”

“And this is Waddles the pig,” Mabel said, holding up the pig that had chosen a poor moment to walk into the room. Waving one of his little hooves, she added, “He’s kind of a big deal around here.”

Summer nodded along, looking more and more uncomfortable with the situation with every passing moment while Morty waved at the pig and Dipper, not really sure what was going on since the morning was turning out much weirder than any intergalactic adventure he had been on.

The only one unphased by it all was Rick, who took the awkward lull to point at the two other men in the room. “And these two are Stanford Pines.”

“They’re the same person?” Morty asked, cautiously.

“What? Are you kidding me?” Grabbing hold of Ford’s hand, Rick held it up for Morty to see. “One of them has six fingers on each hand. They’re just twins.”

Ford snatched his hand out Ricks’ grasp and glared at him, hands held behind his back. Not that he was the only one who looked uncomfortable with the antics what with Stan’s matching glare and the way Morty shot a sympathetic look to the men since, well, at least they had to have known that Rick was just like that.

Summer thankfully came to the rescue with her own question, eyeing up the twins with her usual look of skepticism. “And they’re both named Stanford?”

“No. That’d be dumb,” Rick said. “The six fingered one is Stanford. The other is Stanley. Or Hal Forrester”

“Shut up!” Stan exclaimed.

Ford stood up straighter at that. Resting a hand on Rick’s shoulder, he leaned in closer to him. “Wait, you know Stanley?”

“Knowing me is actually normal,” Stan argued, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m more concerned with how he met you after you went in the portal.”

“Hey think I could get some more bacon? I have to explain some stuff to these geezers.” Rick held his plate out toward Mabel.

Snapping out of the trance that the argument had all of them in, Mabel took the plate and began to add more strips of bacon to it. “There you go, Mr Sanchez.”

“I-I like this one, Stan. She cooks like a pro.”

“Yeah, well don’t get used to it because I’ve got a lot of questions for you. Starting with how you met him,” Stan said, gesturing to his twin.

Opening his mouth to explain just that, Rick was cut off by Ford holding up a hand, stopping the conversation before it could even begin.

“I think this would be better discussed in my lab.”

“Yeah. Good point,” Stan said looking over the kids in the room.

Rick didn’t do anything more than shrug since he clearly didn’t have much say in the situation. With a decisive nod, Ford walked back over to the vending machine and input some code to make it open again while Stan kept a careful eye on Rick.

Looking back at Morty and Summer, Rick told them,“Hey, you two, why not ask those two to take you into town or something. I’m going to be awhile.”

“Are you serious, right now?” Summer asked. “You bring us all the way to Oregon and then ditch us with some little kids?”

“I’m not little! I’m twelve,” Dipper was quick to argue, although the way he stood up in his seat somewhat underscored his point.

Not that anyone pointed that out. The look Summer gave him kind expressed such a point, but no words were uttered by anyone other than Morty, who was quick to pacify the situation before it could grow any worse since they only needed one problem for the day and Rick had more than provided that.

“Yeah, no. It’s cool, Rick,” he said waving off the man. “We’ll , we’ll just hang out with them.”

“Don’t worry. Soos will be around soon enough. Just tell him drive you into town,” Stan added as he pushed Rick through the entryway of the vending machine.

Summer crossed her arms over her chest and scoffed. “This is so unbelievable.”

“Bacon?” Mabel asked, holding up the plate.

“Yeah, try the bacon. This shi--stuff is like crack. I mean...” He gave a cautious look to Stan then back at his plate. Shrugging, he shook his head as he looked back at the larger man. “Yeah. No substitute for crack.”

Giving an annoyed huff, Stan closed the vending machine door and continued to force Rick down the stairs to Ford’s lab. Were anyone else in Rick’s place, they might have felt some sort of unease, but Rick didn’t even try to shake off the heavy grip of Stan’s hand on his shoulder. He merely followed behind Ford to the elevator, happily munching away on his bacon.

Once inside the elevator, Rick held up a piece in offering toward Ford, who just gave him a rather evil looking glare. Attempting the same thing with Stan, it was hard to tell if he was meant to be happy that the other took the entire piece of bacon from him or not, but Rick was definitely leaning toward not given the exasperated sigh he let out after his loss.

When elevator finally reached the final floor, Stan shoved Rick out the of it harshly. Placing a hand over his remaining piece of bacon to protect it, Rick stood upright and looked back at the twins.

“Now, how the hell do you know my brother?” Stan asked, resting his hands against his hips.

“Yes. I too would like to know how you met Stanley,” Ford chimed in.

It was all rather needless in Rick’s opinion, but the two of them really seemed unable to see what he saw. Putting his plate down on the console--much to the annoyance of Ford if the noise he made was anything to go on--Rick looked at them both rather pointedly “Oh come on. Put two and two together, you m-morons. I know you both the same way.”

Ford scoffed. “You met him in a complete accident while he was trapped in a different dimension?”

it was just the kind of smart ass reply Rick was expecting for him, but Stan just continued to stare him down. Watched the way Rick rolled his eyes at the reply before looking toward Ford. From there it was a slow play of Stan looking between the two of them as a look of horror settled on his face.

“Oh god.” Gripping the front of Rick’s shirt, Stan yanked him closer. That look never once fading into any concern for how Rick stumbled or the way the other man’s hands settled over his own. “Tell me you didn’t, you son of a bitch!”

“At least one of you gets it,” Rick said as he tried to free himself from Stan’s grip.

“What? What’s going on?”

Stan finally shoved him away hard enough to send Rick stumbling back into console. His hands balling into fists at his side, Stan forced himself to stay where he was--a safe distance away from the lanky scientist. “I oughta beat the crap out of you!”

“We can get to that part later,” Rick agreed. “Right now I have a small world ending issue that definitely needs a solution now. Hence me being here to get help from you two.”

“Us two?” Ford asked. “Why do you need him?”

Stan’s jaw twitched at the question, but he didn’t take any other offense to the remark.

The only one who seemed annoyed by the question was Rick, who generally hated being questioned. Forcing himself into an upright position, he dusted off his lab coat and told them, “Because if I add you both up, you make a nearly decent genius.”

“Stanley isn’t a genius.”

“Then why’s he the only one who’s put together how I know you both?” Rick moved closer at he taunted him. Getting in Ford’s face for no other reason than to antagonize the man. “I mean, the guy built an interdimensional portal from some old journal of yours. And if you’ve never seen him Vegas, you’ve missed out.”

Rearing back, Ford adjusted his glasses as he continued to scowl at the man. “I wrote those journals. It’s not hard to follow instructions. And I’d rather have the certainty of you explaining how you met him.”

“Fine,” Rick leaned back, smiling far too happily. “Sit down, Ford and I will tell you both the tale of how I banged your brother. Heh. Get it?”

“What?!”

“It was an ok tv show about some guy explaining to his kids about how he met their dead mom only it focused more on the family friend he wanted to bang,” Stan explained, his distaste for it rather apparent. Waving it off, he added, “Ran for like five years or so. And you don’t even really meet the mother til the last season?”

“No. Not that. You had sex with my brother?!”

“Yeah. I banged him first too,” was Rick’s far too proud declaration. “Now, can I get to my story or can we skip straight to the world saving?”

Ford shook his head, eyes staring at the ground, but not really focused on it. His mind too busy on trying to piece together the information that had been thrown at him. “Before... So you could’ve helped me back here when we met?! You son of a bitch!”

Without warning, he caught Rick with a right hook that nearly sent him crumbling to the floor. Stan quickly grabbed his brother, holding him back from doing any further damage to him. Not that he didn’t deserve it. Hell, Rick knew it was probably warranted, but as he pulled himself into the chair rather than stand up again, he still glared at the twins as he held his jaw.

“Ow!”

“Just be happy it was him and not me,” Stan offered with a fake grin.

“So what? You’re just going to let the world end in order to beat me up? Real fucking mature,” Rick complained, still rubbing at his face. Letting out another noise of pain, he did his best to shake off the worst of it.

Neither twin had much sympathy for him though. They were just a pair of matching angry looks, although Stan looked less murderous than his brother, though not by much. However, Ford seemed to remember the problem at hand wasn’t entirely Rick after a few seconds of angry staring.

Pinching the the bridge of his nose, he took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. “No. We’ll help, but before anything gets done, you’re going to explain all of this.”

“The world ending situation? Well that’s actually pretty funny--”

“Not that,” Ford snapped. “How you met him first. How you could’ve helped me get back here without Stanley having to reopen the portal.”

Looking between the two of them and gaging just how much effort it would take for him create enough distance to use his portal gun--or outright run away--Rick caved in on himself and nodded.

“ Fine. Whatever. Still more tolerable than the council of Ricks.” He leaned back in the chair and looked toward the ceiling. Spun around in it a few times before finally stopping and giving them his attention again. “Alright, so, I guess I’ll start from the beginning. It all started back in the seventies, I think back in Idaho.”

Stan immediately frowned in discomfort. “Oh God. Look can we just skip this part?”

“Hell no,” Rick snapped. “It’s my story and I’m going to start it from where I choose, prostitution origin story and all.”

It was Ford’s turn to look concerned about what he was asking for. “Rick, you were a prostitute?”

A slow grin spread across Rick’s face, though it was somewhat ruined by the way he winced in pain from being hit earlier. Stan rubbed at the back of his neck looking at anything but the other two people in the room, eventually clearing his throat when he found the will to speak.

“It wasn’t him doing it."

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tale of how Stan met Rick Sanchez, complete with prostitution backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is literally longer than the entire fic so far. Hence why it took so long to update. That and I’m lazy. Anyways, your love keeps me going reality is a lie buy gold BYE!

**The Past**

A deep breath was taken the moment Karl rolled from on top of him. The room smelled of sweat, sex and a stale mold that permeated the whole of the apartment for better or worse. One that the landlord said couldn’t be helped after handing him a grocery store flyer for some air fresheners on sale.The smell didn’t bother Stan enough to take him up on the offer and from the way Karl was lying there with a dopey grin on his face, he would say that it wasn’t much concern for him either. Which was good, Stan tried to make himself believe as he ran his hands through sweaty hair.

Patting his thigh in a friendly sort of way, Karl started to get up-first sitting on the edge of the bed and then forcing himself to his feet after a weird little chuckle. Stan chose to continue lying there as he watched the other man start to search for his clothes.

Stan would’ve prefered the other guy act like he wasn’t there, but Karl kept shooting dopey grins his way as he pulled on his pants. It was hard to make out in the dark without his glasses, but that didn’t stop Stan from knowing on a gut level that the other an looked far too happy.

Closing his eyes, he did his best to just wait for the man to leave before he would get himself cleaned up. Take a nice hot shower to make himself feel a little less dirty. But there was that hand on his thigh again, drawing him back into the moment as it rubbed small circles into his skin. Opening his eyes, he frowned at Karl.

With the way he was leaning so close, it was easy to tell that Karl was definitely wearing a dopey grin. Too bright and happy as his gaze kept wandering lower while his hand drifted higher. “You were really great, Forrester. Money’s on the nightstand.”

“Yeah.” Forcing himself to a seated position on the bed, he pulled his legs up to his chest and nodded at him. “Thanks.”

Karl nodded as he looked him over again. Satisfied in more than one way, he made his way over to the door only to stop and look back at him. “Hey, if you ever want to do it again,you know where to find me. Always willing to help out a friend in need.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Stan said, managing his best grin.

And as soon as Karl was out of the room with nothing more than a nod, Stan was on his feet and counting the money left on his nightstand. Flicking through the bills to make sure he hadn’t be stiffed, not that it was likely. Karl knew what he could do in a fight. But all one hundred dollars were there. Just enough to make up the rest of his rent and maybe get some decent food in his place.

Relieved, Stan set down the money and started to make his way to the bathroom, only to be forced to a halt by the sound of Karl’s voice talking to someone else through the paper thin walls.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Y-you really thought you could just, screw me over like that?” The other person yelled “That I wouldn’t know you turned me over to them?”

“Whoa. Sanchez, easy. Just relax.”

“Relax?!” The guy screamed. “You fucking turned me over and you want me to relax? You really think I’m fucking overreacting right now?”

Stan grabbed the closest pair of jeans and struggled to get them on quickly and quietly. Going over to the door, he paused before going back and grabbing the money and hiding it in the drawer of his nightstand just in case. The sight of his glasses sitting on the nightstand made him frown until he eventually put those on as well.

“What did you want me to do?” Karl asked in a helpless way that didn’t make Stan feel any better about what might have been going on in the next room. “You were going to get us both killed and all over what? Some-”

“You know a little trust would’ve went a long way you piece of-piece of shit. I knew what I was doing.”

“Did you though?!”

Gripping the door knob, Stan took a deep breath before barging out of the room to assess the situation with his own eyes. “What the hell is going on here?!”

His eyes immediately felt on the skinny guy about his own age pointing a gun at Karl’s head. The mad look in the guy’s eyes when their gazes met. Stan was quick to raise his own hands, shooting a worried look toward Karl since the guy looked ready to piss himself. Not that Stan could blame him.

“Hey” the guy with gun, Sanchez, barked out, “don’t look at him.”

“This is my apartment!” Shooting a final disbelieving look toward Karl, he then gave his full attention to the skinny madman with the gun. “How did you even get in?”

Sanchez gestured toward Karl with his gun. “He let me in.”

“I swear, I opened the door and he was just there. I don’t even know how he found me.”

“I’m a motherfucking genius, that’s how,” bragged the guy. Licking his lips, he shook his head as he stepped closer to Karl. “I’ve been-been tracking you for days now. Just had to find the right moment to make you pay for fucking me over, you flaccid dick canoe.”

“Sanchez, come on,” Karl pleaded. “You know it wasn’t personal. If it was you in my place, you would’ve done the same thing.”

Stan rolled his eyes. If not for the fact that this standoff was happening in his apartment, he would’ve left Sanchez to shoot Karl given how the guy was a worm at best. But

“What did he even do?” Stan asked, shifting in place since his arms were starting to kill him and the nutjob didn’t seem to be paying him much attention anyways.

“Screwed me over and n-now he’s going to pay for it.”

Karl gave a shake of his head, looking toward the ceiling briefly as though he might be praying. Not that it could’ve been much of a prayer when he was looking back at the other guy as though he could quietly urge him to stop all this.

“Sanchez.”

The madman shook his head in  refusal to Karl’s pleading. with narrowed eyes, he asked in a too calm fashion, “G-got any last words or should I shoot you now?”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Karl was quick to argue. “I mean, Chuck and his goons would’ve found out one way or another. I only–”

“Wrong answer, asshole.”

Without hesitation, the guy lowered his gun to point at his chest and shot him. Shot him point blank and then just stood there watching as Karl fell to a crumpled up heap on the floor. Looking between the body on his floor and the man standing over it, Stan couldn’t even remember to lower his hands. He just stood in shock until the first words to filter through his mind came pouring out of his mouth.

“Holy shit! What the...” Breathing too quickly, his hands fell to his sides as the sight of blood coloring Karl’s shirt snapped him out of his stupor. “You just shot a guy in my place?!”

“Do-don’t worry about it. He’ll be fine. See?”

The other man nudged at Karl with his foot in what could only be called a light kick, but Karl didn’t respond. Just continued to lie there bleeding out, completely unresponsive to the outside world.

“He’s dead!”

“I just said he’s fine.”

Ignoring his better judgment and the gun that the guy still had, Stan rushed over to Karl and fell to his knees by his side. His hands started to check the wounds while panic pumped through his veins. Breaths came quick and shaky because there was a very clear gunshot wound despite the claims by the nut job that he was ok.

Ready to get up and call the police or grab his shovel from his closet, Stan went still as Karl’s chest moved in a nearly indistinct sign that he was still breathing.  Swallowing down the worst of his fears, Stan sat back and ran a shaking hand through his hair.

“He-he’s still breathing.” He licked his lips and nodded to himself as he tried to think of the next reasonable move to make. “I need to call the ambulance.”

Sanchez scoffed from his position across the room. He was more interested in the garbage that strewn about the makeshift kitchen table than the man bleeding on the floor. “Trust-trust me. It’s not even that serious. I just, you know, shot him with my sleep gun. He’s gonna be out for-for awhile.”

“He’s bleeding on my floor!”

“Yeah, well, judging by some of these stains, it’s hardly the first time someone has done that,” Sanchez said before plopping down in Stan’s chair and putting his feet up on the coffee table.

“Hey! Get off that! You don’t get to break into my place and then make yourself comfortable!”

“Wait.” Sanchez leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looked around the room. “Don’t you have neighbors or something? May-maybe you oughta stop screaming.”

Stan’s eyes went wide in disbelief. “You shot a guy in my apartment!”

“He’s only sleeping. He’ll be up in an hour and by then Chuck and his goons can deal with him." Sanchez waved his hand dismissively as he leaned back in the chair. Closing his eyes, he let out a yawn, barely covering his mouth before holding out that same hand toward Stan. "Oh, I’m Rick by the way.”

“Not making small talk with the guy who broke into my house and shot a dude," Stan said, smacking the hand out of the way.

Licking his lips, he looked toward the ceiling as he rose to his feet to pace. Pacing at least felt like an outlet to his still wired nerves though it did nothing to even his still frantic breathing or untangle the growing knot in his stomach.

And Sanchez or Rick or whatever just sat there on his chair watching, finally looking somewhat concerned about the situation, even if it was only to do with Stan's pacing.

“Stunned a dude with a special bullet I invented. Besides, he let me in. Said so himself.”

“You really think that makes a difference?”

“L-little bit. Uh... barely dressed guy?" Forcing himself out of the chair, Rick moved over to Stan and grabbed him by the shoulders. Even stared him in the eyes as he spoke in an all too calming fashion. "Why don’t we go get a drink or something?”

Stan looked at the odd man in front of him, sparing only a brief glance toward the cold metal of the gun that rested between Rick's hand and his shoulder. “Why the hell would I get a drink with the guy who broke into my place and shot a guy?”

“Because," Rick started as he lifted the gun in his hand. "This gun can fire real bullets and I asked nicely. Hey, look, I’ll even pay if you drive. Gotta ditch my car. I was serious about Chuck and his guys being on their way and you know, don’t want to be here for that.

“Who the hell is Chuck?”

“Guy from California who really hates being fucked over.”

“And you did that?”

“Hey, comatose Karl here was involved too," Rick argued. Something about the question struck an obvious nerve because he shoved Stan away from him and began to gesture with his gun. "Now if you want to be here when Chuck comes around asking questions, then go for it, but me, I’m gonna be far away. So, you coming or what?”

Stan couldn't believe the situation he found himself in. Rick's ability to go from menacing to worryingly calm was kept throwing Stan for a loop. It was impossible to tell who he should've been concerned for.

Taking a deep breath, he held his hands out of in front of himself to help ground him in the moment for the time being at least. “You break into my place, shoot my friend–”

“John.”

Stan shook his head and tried his best to sort out the logic behind the interruption. “What?”

"I know Karl’s type and it’s you." Rick stopped and looked him over in a way that made Stan rear back. Satisfied with whatever he saw, he made an up and down gesture with his gun at him. "What he pay, two  hundred or so? Look, I'm not judging you. Prostitutes can make good money and you got a great body so-”

“Not the point," Stan interrupted. Not one to take any sort of judgment or non-judgment from him, he stepped closer and prodded Rick in the chest as he spoke with a newfound confidence. "You broke into my place. You shot him. And apparently you’ve led some other nut job here. Am I getting this right?”

For a long moment they just stared at each other. Stan resisting the urge to punch the answer out of Rick as the guy searched his face for something. It was a long moment in Stan's mind. One that felt like nothing was going to come of it. Reaching his snapping point, Stan rolled his eyes and readied to hit him when Rick spoke at last.

“Look, this is taking a long time, so I’m just going to go. You can deal with Karl and Chuck.” He started to make his way toward the door, Opening it, he paused long enough to look back at Stan and nod. “You-you look like you can take a few blows. Have fun dealing with that shit. I'm out."

Finally rid of the nuisance, Stan dragged has hands over his face as he groaned in frustration. With a deep breath, he looked around the room and at Karl, still lying there only he had started to making grunts of pain as he began to twitch. Looking back at the slow spreading bloodstain, he rushed to his room.

He grabbed a duffle bag from his closet and tossed it on his bed, muttering obscenities to himself as he started to fill it with clothes. Frankly, not how he had seen himself leaving Idaho behind–well, not the exact way–but he had more than enough experience packing on the fly. It was rather easy when he didn’t keep much in the way of excessive clothes or personal items. Just the stuff in his drawers, the cash he had just been paid, the shovel he kept in his closet and the pictures he used for decoration in the living room.

With all that packed up, he threw on a shirt and some shoes before heading for the door. The only stall came when he spared a last look to Karl still lying there. The guy was groaning a lot more than before and it would’ve been cruel to leave him there bleeding out. So, picking up the phone, Stan dialed 911 and then left it off the hook. Either someone would come around or they wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be there to find out.

Sprinting down the stairs of the rundown looking apartment building, he slowed down once he got outside. Held his shovel a little tighter as he crossed from the entrance to the parking lot, keeping a careful eye out for anyone suspicious. No one bothered him as he made his way to the car though. The only sign of life being the car that drove past as he reached his car. Unlocking it, he threw his bag and the shovel in the trunk before going to his door and unlocking it.

Struggling to start the car, Stan groaned. “Come on, you hunk of junk. Don’t do this to me now.”

“Nice car you got,” Rick said as he climbed into the passenger.

“Holy shit!” Stan clenched his fists tightly, ready to strike out and punch the other guy, even he pressed himself against his own door.

Rick looked him over before glancing toward the backseat of the car. Smiling, he looked back at Stan and gestured toward the bag. “Wow. You’re just taking your money and running. I like that.”

“Did you just break into my car?”

“How, how is that a surprise to you?” Placing his feet up on the dash, Rick made himself more comfortable. Too comfortable with how he pulled out a flask and took a swig from it before holding it out to Stan. “Look, let’s go get drinks, yeah? I saw a nice bar in town.”

Stan smacked the flask away from him. “What are you? Nuts? I’m leaving this place and not coming back. No pit stops for booze.”

“Ok. I-I hear you on that,” Rick said putting up his flask in his pocket, only to pull out his gun again as well. “But con-consider the fact that I still have a gun.”

Resting his hands on the steering wheel, he lowered his head in defeat before looking over at Rick. “You’re seriously threatening to shoot me if I don’t take you to a bar?”

Rick looked toward the gun in his hand and nodded. “Yeah. I mean, no one would-would really know, you know? Just kill you, dump you on the way to Vegas.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Yeah, well, I could use a drink right now so, chop chop,” he said, prodding Stan’s shoulder the barrel of his gun. “It-it’s been a stressful day.”

Part of Stan wanted to keep the car parked. Wait it out and see if Rick really would shoot him, if the whole day hadn’t just been some sick cosmic joke. However, a larger part of him knew from experience that testing a nutjob with a gun was not good idea. If he didn’t know any better, he would think that his car was in on that fact as well given how easily it started.

Although that could’ve easily have had something to do with the fact that his hands were shaking less.

Whatever the reason, Stan cast a worried glance at Rick before pulling out and making his way toward the only bar in town he had ever bothered to go to. Kept a careful eye out for any sort of suspicious figure on the road and on the gun in Rick’s hand through the entire ride. To say he was feeling paranoid was an understatement from the way he gripped the wheel–his body tensed up throughout the entire ride.

Pulling up to the bar, he turned off the car and got out when Rick nudged him with the gun, holding his hands up slightly out of instinct as he did. There was no walking calmly into the bar as far as Stan was concerned, but Rick managed it well. Once through the threshold of the place, he slung an arm around Stan’s shoulders and laughed.

“C’mon. Loosen up. You’re not dead yet,” he teased as he led them over to the bar. Taking a seat, he nod for Stan to do them same before waving down the bartender. “Hey, hey. Two shots of whatever’s strongest yeah? What do you want?”

“I’ll have the same as him, Gladys.”

The woman nodded, but still held out her hand toward them. “IDs, guys.”

Stan pulled out his wallet and started to search through it for the right id. Setting it on the table, he smiled as best he could at her while Rick put his own id and twenty on the table. Satisfied that both at least had good information, Gladys handed them back and went about making their drinks.

Leaning against the bar, Rick let out a happy sigh before smiling at Stan. “You look like hell.”

“No shit.”

Stan adjusted his glasses as he looked around the bar. It was a crowd but not a large one. Not that he knew what to do with that information at the moment. He just didn't want to look at Rick and his unwavering smile.

Only, Rick wasn't going to let that happen. He clapped a heavy hand against Stan's shoulder and shook him lightly.

“Look, I didn’t mean to drag you into this, but you’re here now. Might as well enjoy it.”

“Might as well enjoy being kidnapped after..." Stan leaned in closer to whisper harshly, "After you shot a dude in my apartment?”

If nothing else, the remark knocked that stupid grin off Rick's face. He even dropped his hand from Stan's shoulder--instead resting it in his lap. “Well, with how many ids you got, it can’t be that new to you.”

Stan looked away even though his hand settled against his wallet pocket protectively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rick shoved at him. Looking back at him in annoyance, Stan was greeted with the sight of guy featured between the two of them. “I’m not blind, jackass. I can literally see that you have way more ids than a normal person should.”

“They could be other stuff,” he lied, gaze drifting back toward the other patrons of the bar.

Rick scoffed. “And I could be a motherfucking chicken.”

Biting his tongue as Gladys returned with two shot glasses, Stan forced a smile for her sake and gave an appreciative nod. Rick muttered a thanks, but his focus was clearly on his drink. Couldn’t grab it fast enough, just holding it in his hand as he waited for Stan to do the same.

“You know, I didn’t ask you to kidnap me,” Stan said the moment Gladys walked away. Glaring at Rick, he added, “In fact, I’d be a whole hell of a lot happier if you hadn’t.”

Rick held up his own drink in a cheers. Looked down at the shot glass still sitting on the bar pointedly. “Yeah, well, shit doesn’t work that way. Now drink up.”

Stan picked up the shot glass and clinked his glass against Rick’s in a sort of cheers before knocking it back. Slamming their glasses back on the bar, he grimaced while his kidnapper laughed manicly. He didn’t understand how when the taste of it was caustic on his tongue. It took everything he had not to cough like some first timer.

“Ugh. Oh God. What is this shit?!”

“Hell if I know,” Rick said, shaking his head. “I just asked for the strongest thing.”

“And you just drink whatever they give you?”

“Yeah. What? Not good enough for you, Hal?”

It took a considerable amount of effort to keep his calm. Clearing his throat, he shrugged. “...How’d you know my name? See it on my id?”

"I could have but there’s a poster for some fight you had on the wall.”

Eyes following the vague way Rick gestured over his shoulder, he eyed the poster with a frown. Fingers over the knuckles of his right hand. “Huh. Oh. Yeah.”

“Didn’t win?” His kidnapper questioned, leaning across the bar to wave down Gladys’s attention against for another drink.

“Of course I won.”

In fact, Stan was nearly offended that Rick would suggest otherwise. It was clear from looking at the picture on the poster that he was the favorite. Granted, he looked a bit more like a fighter without his glasses on, but the other guy on the poster was nothing compared to Hurtin’ Hal Forrester.

He sat up a bit straighter as he looked back at Rick, who was finishing up another order with Gladys. From the looks of what she poured them, it was the same as before except for the fact that there were four shots instead of two on the bar.

“So,” Rick started only to pause and knock back one of the shots. “You just like pimping yourself out for the hell of it, Boxer Guy?”

“What I do in my private life isn't any concern of yours."

"Yeah. Just trying to make small talk.” He finished off his second one as quickly as the first. But rather than tackling the last two, he pushed one of them toward Stan. “Hey, h-how much did he pay you?"

"Not having this conversation,” Stan said as he took the shot, grimacing a little less as it worked its way down his throat.  Wiping his mouth, he pointed at the man across from him. “In fact if anyone is going to ask questions it's me. Like why you would lead some thugs to my place?"

Rick looked annoyed by the question, but after a quick drumming of his fingers on the bar, he sighed. "That was mostly bullshit. Just didn't want you there when Karl woke up."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Why not? I didn't even know you!"

In the quiet of the bar, his voice sounded even louder and attracted the attention of more than a few patrons. Lifting his hand as he forced an apologetic smile, he waited until they looked away before glaring at Rick again.

“Well?”

"L-look, Forrester, Karl's a bad guy who would've offed you. No, no collateral damage on my watch.” That said he finished off what Stan had assumed to be his own second shot before snapping his fingers and pointing at him. “Another shot?”

"No. No one is having more shots right now. Why should I believe you aren't lying?"

"Hell if I know. But I know Karl.” His kidnapper made a vague gesture with his hand as he tried to downplay the matter. “Fucker left me to die after squealing on me."

Stan let out an exaggerated gasp. "Really? I can't imagine why since you seem like such a great guy."

"I'm fucking, fucking wonderful. Bought your ass shots, didn't I?”

Part of him wanted to point out that he had also drank most of the shots that were bought, but Rick wasn’t even looking at him. He was too busy rocking back and forth on his stool.

“And, you know, Karl helped me and then took both out cuts and then turned on me. And I don't take that kind of shit lightly.” With the way Rick stopped everything to point at him, Stan was sure it was a warning.

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to say to that," he said with a shake of his head.

"Thank you might be a nice start,” Rick said smiling.

"Still kidnapped me at gunpoint."

"Yeah, well...” He stopped his antics and stared at Stan for a worrying moment. Looking back at the table, he shrugged and went back to his rocking. “Shit. I guess I can't argue that."

"Sure you don't want to try?"

His strange companion gave a shake of his head. Only briefly looking up as though he wanted to say something. Stan waited expectantly, but all he got was another clap on the shoulder as Rick rose from his seat. Using both hands on Stan’s shoulders to steady himself, he nodded off to the bathroom.

“Ah, h-hey. I’m gonna take a leak. I’ll be right back.”

“Alright. I’ll be here.”

Watching the other man walk off, Stan wasn’t even going to pretend that he didn’t see the other men that followed after Rick. They were already too big to ignore and the way three went into the bathroom practically on the heels of his kidnapper while another one kept watched was suspicious as hell. It also wasn’t his problem.

Which was why he did his best to avoid making eye contact with their look out and instead tried to wave down Gladys as covertly as he could. Stan Pines knew when to make his exit, after all. When she came over, he pulled out a ten from his wallet and placed it down on the bar with a smile.

“Gladys, that guy I was with, don’t tell him anything when he comes back,” he said, leaning in like he was ordering a drink. “And tell Paulie I’m not making that next fight."

The old girl didn’t even bat an eye. Just took the money with a matching smile of her own. "Pauline ain't gonna like that. He had big money running on you in that fight against Jimmy Stitches."

"Yeah well, he can cope. Nice knowing you, Gladys."

Resisting the urge to reach over and give her a hug, he instead rose from his seat and made his way out of the bar as casually as possible. And while he was an old pro at doing just that, it didn’t stop his heart from feeling like it was going to beat its way right out of his mouth from how fast it was going. By time he reached his car, his stomach was twisted into knots and he felt like he might be sick. But the fact of the matter was that he was home free.

Pulling out his keys from his pocket, he took a deep breath to steady his hands and then unlocked the front door. The gun pressed against his back gave him pause though. Lifting his hands above his head, he slowly turned around to look at his attacker.

“Rick?”

The man gave a humorous chuckle. “Yo-you know I was just coming here t-to steal your car, but since you’re here, unlock it and get in.”

“Why should I?”

“I knocked out those guys who followed me into the bathroom and could use a getaway before the other idiot catches on.” Rick let out a low belch then gestured for him to move. “Now, chop chop, Forrester."

Rather than comply, for whatever reason, Stan shook his head. He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest as he stood there defiantly. "What's in it for me?"

"I have a gun.”

"Yeah, that threat is getting real old and you yourself said you don’t believe in collateral damage.."

Rick pointed his gun toward Stan and fired off two shots, the sound of which passed entirely too close to Stan’s ears for his liking. "Believe me now?"

“You’re fucking nuts.”

A weak complaint to make when he was quickly unlocking his car while Rick crossed around to the passenger side. Reaching over to unlock that door as well, Stan started the car as Rick hopped in, oblivious to the people who had started to come outside to see what the source of the sound was.

“No. I’m running from some assholes who want their money. Now drive.”

The car’s wheels squealed as he pulled out, doing his best to make a hasty exit from town without catching the attention of any cops. He didn’t even pay any attention to Rick when he rolled down a window and tossed something in the direction of the bar. He didn’t want to know really.

It wasn’t until he was certain that they weren’t being followed did he relax in his seat as much as he could with the urge to be sick still tearing through his stomach. Checking his rearview mirror, he exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and then looked toward Rick.

“What?” Rick asked defensively, the posturing only lasting a moment before he held up his hands innocently. “Look, I’m sorry fo-for shooting at you but it got everyone outside so I could drop my gas bomb. I swear, when they wake up ev-everyone will be fine.”

“Why not just explain that Karl screwed you out of the money?” Stan question in a tone that demanded an answer.

“Oh!” Rick smacked himself in the forehead before resting his arm on the windowsill. “Because it sort of didn't happen that way and they know it.”

“Sort of?”

“Look, he didn’t so much screw me over as he told Chuck that I was gonna cut and run after I took Karl's cut but once again, Karl is a terrible guy. I told you that.”

“You’re going to get me killed,” he said with a certainty.

Eyes focused on the road, he could picture the coverage of his death. His parents not shelling out to get his body back, if there was a body to get back. His dad being so certain that he died as he lived--a useless screw up. And, maybe it was the stress of the day, but Stan felt like he might cry.

To make matters worse, Rick seemed to pick up on that. By time Stan snapped out of his depressing revelry, the guy had a hand on his shoulder and was rubbing at it in a comforting manner.

“Hey, come on. I’m a scientist. I got this. No one’s going to die except other people. Bad people,” he said in a tone most used for comforting children. “I just... need you keep driving toward Vegas."

“Vegas? Vegas is like half a day away.”

“You and I both know you ain’t got shit back here. I mean, you packed a bag of your stuff. Plus, I took a lot of money from Chuck. Tr-trust me, I can bankroll a nice vacation.”

Without an argument, to make, Stan just accepted his fate. Just to get the words out of his mouth, he asked in a downtrodden voice. “And what about when they track you down to Vegas?”

“N-not gonna happen. They’re, they’re gonna track down Karl first Left behind clues and shit. And when they do that they’ll run right into the booby traps I left at his place.” Everything about his practically oozed confidence in that fact. “We-we’re good.”

Stan lifted a hand from the wheel to rub at his eyes. "How has any of this day been good?"

"Because I know what I'm doing here and b-bad people don't need money anyways."

“You’re fucking insane.”

“You keep saying that.” Rick raised his legs to rest his feet on the dashboard “Besides, I can teach you a cool trick. Bound, bound to win at the tables.”

“And I should just trust you?”

"Well, it's not like you can just go back to your place. Cops would want to question you if Karl bled to death ."

He whipped his head over to look at Rick, eyes wide in panic yet again as the sick feeling edged its way to becoming a very clear possibility for the near future. "I thought you said he would be fine! And why would cops be there?"

Staring at him as though he was the idiot, Rick scoffed. "Just because he was asleep does mean he couldn't bleed to death and I know you called the cops. You're a good guy. Sorta. Look, I’m turning on the radio.”

"Ah shit," Stan muttered while Rick tried to find a station worth listening to.

Eventually settling on a rock station, his kidnapper elbowed at his side. “Hey, can we stop for food? I’m feeling pretty-pretty hungry.”

**Present Day**

“Wait.” Ford held up one hand as the other was pinching at the bridge of his nose. He looked as though he was trying to process the information he was given, only looking up at Rick when he seemed to get a hold of things. “You broke into Stan’s house. Shot his John, which, why were you prostituting yourself out to begin with, Stanley?!”

Stan snorted derisively. Hands on his hips, he leveled a downright challenging look at his twin.  “You really want to get into that Mr Living-It-Up-In-The-Woods-Of-Oregon? I did what I had to to get by.”

“I–No,” he said as he let his focus return to the current problem. “Rick, you did all that and then you kidnap him only by virtue of you both trying to make a run for it at the same time?!”

“It sounds bad when you put it that way. I mean, he learned a lot from that trip,” Rick answered, as though that excused everything else.

From the way Stan chuckled, perhaps it did for them. After all, he was mighty quick to point mocking finger at Rick. “Yeah, like how you will never be able to hit the high note of Bohemian Rhapsody and really love the Bee Gees.”

“Stayin’ Alive is a hit for a reason, Hal Forrester!”

Ford didn’t bother to question what seemed like an in joke between the two of them. Merely squashed down the worst of his feelings as he turned his disappointment and frustration toward his twin.

“Stanley, you just went along with this?”

“It wasn’t as though I had much of a choice considering the gun he had.”

“But you still speak to him,” Ford argued, pointing at him with his hand. “He knows where the shack is. You two seem entirely too close for a one off kidnapping. I mean, do you not see the problem with that?”

“Look,” started Stan in a pacifying voice. “After spending almost twelve hours in a car with a guy, you make friends.It was better than me staying in Idaho for the rest of my life anyways.”

“And why were you even in Idaho?”

“I-I had heard that you were in Oregon and I thought, maybe...” Stan couldn’t even begin to find the right words so he settled for giving a pathetic shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know. Either way, I clearly never made it that way.”

A quiet falls over the two of them. Stan refusing to look at his brother while Ford kept an all too careful eye on him. Shoulders sagging in a quiet defeat, Ford was the first to refind his voice.

“No. Instead you let a lunatic steal you away to Las Vegas.”

“Whoa. Seriously judgemental tone for a guy who built an unstable interdimensional portal,” Rick said, gesturing over his shoulder to the room that held the remains of said portal. “And like I said, we did good there. Vegas was good.”

“Good?” Stan questioned in sheer disbelief. “Have you completely forgotten about Jefe? The Silverbird? That entire first week?”

“Hey, that first week wasn’t as bad as you make it out to be,” Rick was quick to counter.

And though it went against his better judgment, Ford sucked in a deep breath before foolishly asking, “I’m sorry. Explain?”

The two men stared at each other, quietly goading each other into continuing on with the tale. It was a long, quiet moment. One that ended in Rick crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes while Stan continued on with the tale.

“Alright. Well, once we got to Vegas we kind of had to lay low for awhile. Make sure that Rick wasn’t going to get killed. Only problem was that Rick here is awful at lying low.”

“I had reasons,” Rick interrupted angrily.

 


End file.
